by Travis Pasch
The smell of death will greet Jade's nostrils sooner than she expected today, a stench she relishes. The poor soul standing naked and ready in front of her hailed her at a red light around twelve thirty. It normally takes her much longer to find a suitable target, but after only twenty short minutes of hunting he had tried to sell her a batch of bad dope. Through some coaxing and disgusting promises she got him back to his place, a drug squat where filth controls every surface and the smell of long-spoiled food owns the air. Bare mattresses are the only furnishing, most replete with blood and who knows what else. She doesn't care if he's harmed one or a thousand people, she's going to end his time on this earth tonight.
"Come on baby, you promised," he whines through a toothless mouth. The moonlight glints off his receding hairline while black dirt rests firmly in his many bodily creases. He looks so pitiful she almost debates going through with it, but that would be doing the public a huge disservice. She is one of the few, true, vigilantes left. If she doesn't kill this roach of a man, who knows just how many other people he'll kill with his tainted supply. "Don't get shy on me," he adds, walking towards her.
"Turn around, I get nervous when people are lookin'."
"Aw, but that's my favorite part."
"Please?" she pleads.
"You ain't got nuthin' I ain't seen," he says. She doesn't budge, and after a few minutes he relents. She doesn't hesitate and a long thick hunting knife emerges from her garter, a smile breaks on her lips.
"I hope this feels as good for you as it will for me," she says closing the gap between them.
"Oh I..." he starts but the knife smashing through his midsection cuts his words short, his arms flail uselessly in defense. Her strength is unbelievable and she lifts him off the ground with nothing but the knife, his sickly body tears against the sharp steel. One last scream tries to rip from his destroyed body, but she muffles it with her left hand, while lowering him to the ground, her right hand still gripping the knife. His head rolls to the side and his eyes go blank and she doesn't feel the need to close them. She tries to breath in his escaping soul, the smile stays on her lips.
The blood spilling from the heroin dealer's midsection manages to ruin Jade's new shoes; she curses herself for being so careless. She stands over the emaciated body for a moment of triumph before attempting to clean her prints from every surface of his house. The beauty of committing crimes against criminals is that the police don't try all that hard to find the culprit, still, she always proceeds with caution, just in case. Bile hits her throat after touching a floorboard that hasn't been cleaned since the Civil War. Fire is about the only option for a place this disgusting she decides, quickly following a vomiting bout. The thousands of cockroaches scuttling about the floor make the decision all the easier. She pulls a pack of matches from her blouse, not wasting a second, in a place like this someone could show up at any time. She lights the whole pack at once and throws it at the ripped curtain in the corner, the ignition is instant and raging. The old dry wood of the house takes the flames willingly, wanting to be put out of its misery. She kicks the dead man for good measure and sprints for the front door. As she tumbles through the door, smoke billows behind her; she underestimated just how fast it would ignite. Her lungs burn instantly, but she doesn't stop running.
She makes it to her car before any onlookers can gawk at the fire. She starts it and peels away, in her haste she half hits half runs something over; she could care less and flees with all due alacrity.
_____________
The smell of the acrid dust and particle-filled wind blowing in his face always makes the hero feel nostalgic. His childhood home was so far from another homestead that his only friends were the people he was always drawing in the dust; soon after he told his parents about them they moved closer to a city. The hero pulls a red handkerchief up over his nose and mouth, despite the memories it produces the dust still makes it near impossible to breathe when it's invading every snort of air.
Michele, the woman who hired him, sure wasn't lying about her wealth. The carriage he's sitting shotgun in now is worth more money than he could make in three life times with bounty hunting. He can only imagine what sort of treasures she's carrying in the massive trunks weighing down the back, of which he was tricked into loading. She brought them along despite his advice against it. The sun setting in the west, at their backs, makes the entire world turn a deep purple hue. The woman's mute driver sits to the hero's left; the mute smells worse than the horses he mercilessly drives onward, his scraggly beard appears to be caked in old horse dung.
"Keep speed through this pass," the hero says to the mute driver, the hero has been ambushed once before in this very pass and doesn't want the event to repeat itself. The man nods, his large hat nearly flies off with the gesture. The hero grips his shotgun all the tighter as the desert pass closes around the magnificent carriage.
His fears come to life as a shot echoes through the pass, knocking a large chunk from the carriage walls off in a hurry. A half dozen bandits descend on them, riding near starving steeds, loaded with more guns than a whole army battalion. The hero proves in an instant he's worth the price he charged the woman, firing before the first rider has a chance to reach them. His first shot knocks the lead rider from his horse with such power the man is propelled ten feet backwards. The second shot is just as accurate, another bandit is readily taken care of, the man's massive girth stops him from flying like the first one though.
The mute driver's obviously experienced. The second the bandits start their descent he pushes the horses harder; his demeanor remains just as stoic despite the gunfire. With four bandits left and no bullets in the shotgun the hero pulls his pistol and lets fly another bullet, swiftly slaying a third thief. The woman screams uncontrollably from inside her expensive ride. Blood splatters the left side of his face; the mute's right arm is basically destroyed by a rifle shot. Once again he shows his worth and keeps driving the horses without so much as a wince.
One last accurate shot from the hero's pistol is enough to turn away the bandits, even though he only wounds the fourth member of the gang, they decide to fall back and find easier prey. He goes about reloading the shotgun and pistol just in case they come back. The mute driver gives him a nod of respect and pushes on, not seeming too worried about his arm.
"Watch out!" the hero yells, the glowing woman stands in the road ahead. Her magnificent arms herald the sky with her head thrown back, letting her beautiful hair hang down past her lower back. The carriage explodes against her radiance, the hero sails through the air. Before he lands on the hard rocks below Zale jolts awake.
"Not again," Zale says as he wakes slowly from another unfinished dream. The sound of a careening vehicle peeling out forces him into full cognition. A glance at his clock throws him into a short panic.
He gets ready in no time to follow the woman again, though brushing one's teeth with a water bottle isn't all that hard, it's still fast and early for him. As he spits out his overly minty toothpaste he looks over and spots a dent in the front of the glowing woman's car. He can't remember her leaving last night, but he swears it wasn't there yesterday. Someone must have bumped it on their way out, that was most likely the jarring event that woke him up way too early this morning. He will have to keep himself up one of these nights to actually see if she moonlights as a stripper or something altogether worse; that seems far-fetched considering her assumed integrity. She probably just went to go get some milk and hit a deer by accident. Are there deer in the desert? He honestly can't remember, but at this point he cold care less what happened. His obsession runs strong enough to put a little dent out of his mind.
